It Was A LONG Month

Where to start? The head-first dive into depression? Breaking edge? The broken promise? Sleepless nights? The spiders and all the beetles? My stupid, harpy of a stepmother? My bratty little half brother?

The beginning might be a good place. The drive down wasn’t that bad. Took us 3 and a half days.

We (me, dad, and Vern) got to our summer house late afternoon. It wasn’t more than 4 hours later my brothers Andy and Chris show up with Andy’s girlfriend Jen. They talked our ears off. Then Chris stayed the night. Me and Chris stayed up till 4am talking. We talked about our anxiety, my depression, cutting. He made me promise to stop cutting. Fuck him. He promised me he’d talk to dad about my anxiety and depression so dad would get me to a therapist and on medication. Fuck Chris because he never did a damn thing! Fuck Chris cuz he was so drunk he couldn’t remember a fucking thing. Why the fuck should I honour the promise I made to him if he didn’t honour the promises he made to me? There were other promises, but this one burns the most.

I felt like shit most of the month. I got so depressed at times I wanted to die, or something to distract me from my misery. I wanted to cut so bad, but I thought Chris would pull through with his promises so I didn’t. It was this depression that lead me to breaking edge.

I was invited to stay the night over at Chris’s apartment for the night. Yup. This is where I break edge. I was invited because I was miserable at the family reunion earlier that day. My aunt Sherrie thought it’d be a good idea. Sherrie, Chris, Andy, and my cousin Matt all live in the same area (actually Chris and Andy live in the same apartment building and Sherrie and Matt live in the apartment across from Chris and Andy). Plus, my cousin Amanda was visiting Sherrie (her mother) with her two kids. Amanda and Chris picked me up from North Tay, that’s where the summer house is, and then we went to Sherrie and Matt’s apartment. When we got there, Sherrie was already smashed. It was both sad and hilarious at the same time. We (me, Chris, Matt, Amanda and my cousin Andrew) watched her down a wine glass of gin and orange juice. We laughed as her words got so slurred and as she stumbled around. Then, Sherrie tried to tell me that I didn’t have to drink any beer and stuff like that. She was so far gone. After that, She went to the liquor store with Andy to get more booze. It was after she left that Chris offered me a beer and Matt handed it to me. I WAS going to refuse. For some reason, I couldn’t refuse. Maybe it was because I wanted to drink with them. May be it was my tiny crush on Matt that made me take the beer. Maybe it’s because I don’t have any fucking spine and I felt so much pressure. Anyways, it escalated from there. We went outside and drank more. Went to my cousin Kelly’s party. Drank more there. Nearly passed out on some boy’s bed. Disgusting, isn’t it? I’d love to blame this event on someone, but I know I’m the one at fault. I didn’t have to accept the beer. I could have said no. But I didn’t. SInce then I have been switching between self-pity and self-loathing.

I had lots of nights where I couldn’t sleep. A couple of them were energy drink-induced I know. The rest of them, however, I have no clue what cause was.

Stupid harpy bitch, aka my stepmother Mary Anne, was nothing but bitch bitch bitch, whine whine whine, kvetch kvetch kvetch when she arrived several days later.

And my little brother Vern was horrible. I can’t even express how he acted. The effort of finding the right words is folding my brain into an origami swan.

Lastly, the bugs that resided in that house. It’s like oh em gee! Look at all the spiders and beetles! I killed at least 20 bugs in all. Spiders: I hate them. Especially the one I nick-named Indianna Jones before killing it, as it decided swinging across my room was a novel idea. I didn’t actually mind Indy at first because he was pretty ninja. He managed to get across my room without me noticing and I was looking out for him like a hawk. But Then he had to swing over my bed like the real Indy in Raiders of the Lost Arc. It was lights out for him.

おわり と みらい

Here’s how today went down:

I get out of bed and I feel like I’m on top of the fucking world, dreaming of a straight-edge community here in Edmonton. That straight-edge documentary I listened to has completely changed my perspective on life and how I see things. On my way to school, my daydreams get wilder. They extend to actual sXe concerts and mosh pits gone crazy and out of control (bodies flying left and right, high on adrenaline and endorphins from various injuries). I get to school and the buzz gets me higher and higher.

The bell rings and I go to math class. We start learning a new linear function. Miyagishima talks so fast I can’t keep up when she tells us how to program our graphing calculators to make the line of best fit. I obviously miss something because even though I’m following instructions perfectly, I’m not getting the same answers as the teacher. I get so frustrated I lose the ability to speak. There goes the best mood I’ve had in a LONG while.

Next class, film studies, we watch more of Amelie. This movie is fucked up in more ways I can count on my fingers. I cringe at all the NC-17 scenes (sex, implied sex, and people having orgasms). Thank you, Anderson, for covering the movie projector lens during the last part.

I spend lunch moping in the library, mentally scarred for life and spiralling into what feels like the worst bout of depression ever.

Third class. Culinary arts. I dislike this class so much. We don’t go to the kitchen right away. Instead we do theory for 15 minutes and do some questions. I hand Hallowes my paper and he checks it over. My misery must uncharacteristically show on my face because he asks “Are you happy?” and I say “Not really” “Why?” “I’m depressed” “Why?” “It’s a clinical thing” “Do take medicine for it?” “No” “Do you talk to your doctor about it?” “No”. He hands me back my paper and I leave his small office. We then go to the kitchen and my group bakes chocolate and angel food cakes.

EDIT: I kinda forgot to mention that Hallowes was nicer to me after the office incident.

Last class is uneventful. We do review on our last chapter in this unit in social studies. At the end of class, Hamilton starts reading out Darwin Awards.

How My Disappointment Grows

I shall finally vocalize my disappointment that has existed since July 2007. There is this girl on a certain forum with which I am very unhappy. Another reminder (I’m starting to sound like a broken record): I’m straight-edge. This girl on the forum said she was straight-edge. But at that time she was screwing every boy that wanted her. Using Ian McKay’s idea of straight-edge, that isn’t straight-edge at all.

Straight-edge (officially) is: no alcohol, no smoking, and no drugs. Optional: no caffeine, no casual sex.

This girl was recently “tricked into drinking”. If she was really tricked, why did she give up edge so easily? It makes me ill. If it really was an accident and if she was really true to the edge, she would’ve continued to claim the edge. And now, on BISf, her posts have degenerated to tales of drunkenness and drugs. And more promiscuous sex. Disgusting. I’m finished with that forum.

Wheeeeeee!

Dizzy spells abound. Supplements, here I come. I haven’t been eating properly (again) and so I’m probably low on iron and protein. I feel drunk. I haven’t touched booze in a little over 2 years. Yeah, that’s right: for all my sXe preaching and all that, I used to drink. I was on my way to becoming an alcoholic. Can you believe that? A 15 year-old on the verge of becoming a drunk. Actually, that is believable. You know the stats for Edmonton’s binge drinkers? 75% of people aged 15-30 are binge drinkers. Ain’t that a fun fact.

Dependance

–noun

1.	the state of relying on or needing someone or something for aid, support, or the like.

2.	reliance; confidence; trust: Her complete reliability earned her our dependence.

3.	an object of reliance or trust.

4.	the state of being conditional or contingent on something, as through a natural or logical sequence: the dependence of an effect upon a cause.

5.	the state of being psychologically or physiologically dependent on a drug after a prolonged period of use.

6.	subordination or subjection: the dependence of Martinique upon France.

My Goddess. I’m such a fucking hypocrite. I couldn’t see that I was pretty much breaking edge while I was cutting. One of the meanings of being straight-edge, to me, is not being dependant on things that are detrimental to oneself. Like alcohol and drugs. But it never really occurred to me that cutting oneself could be considered detrimental until a few days ago. I went through a kind of withdrawal.

I have gone a month without cutting. This is phenomenal, as I used to cut twice a month and the pain would carry me for about a week and a half. I did it on my shoulder where it went unseen. I’d make about 20 to 30 cuts at a time. It would bleed a little, but I didn’t do it for the blood.

But I found someone worth quitting for. An old friend of mine. I want to set an example for her. This sounds rather selfish. And it is. But isn’t everyone selfish to a certain degree?

As for the withdrawal. It came in the form of pain not unlike the pain from my cuts. My whole shoulder ached so horribly. I can still feel it faintly if I think about it. This withdrawal symptom is not unlike the itch in my arm that I suffered from in September. The night before school started, I tried to slit my wrists. I cut my arm so many times and in some places extremely deep. I still have some of the scars. There were a lot of scars. Bright pink and shiny, they stood out on my arm for the longest time. Then, mid-September, they started itching. Not a light itch that you can dismiss with a few swipes of your nails, I mean a deep-seated itch where I was scratching my arm to the point I nearly tore my scar tissue open. It was freaky. And between itches, the most peculiar feeling came over my arm; I could feel the cuts as if they were still there just without the pain. I could feel the cuts when they had already healed up. It was an uncomfortable feeling. An impossible feeling. I was horrified.

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Now playing: The Used – Cut Up Angels
via FoxyTunes

Of Straight-Edge, HardxCore, and Personal Values

I am straight-edge. sXe. I follow the basic “rules” of sXe to the point where I could be called hardxcore. It’s not so hard. I have my temptations. I have my sorrows (I’d like to drown).

I wish to find an answer to the uneasiness I feel when I think about other sXe-ers. If I talked to one, would our conversation end up being about who’s more hardxcore? I despair.

What would be wonderful is that someone would give me an opinion I’d never have to question. Being sXe, casting off all crutches and living a healthier lifestyle than most others around me. I try so hard to have my own thoughts, develop my own opinions. But I don’t think I’m good enough. I don’t think what I am is good enough.

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Now playing: Assemblage 23 – You Haven’t Earned It
via FoxyTunes

Holy Motherfuck!

It’s 10 to midnight and I’ve managed to stay up this late without a nap! It feels like it been forever since I’ve been up this late.

(12:43am) *Le GASP!!!* The entirety of CexCells has been posted on the MySpace. HOOOOOOLY motherfuck. I’m about to hear Between Breaths. Not as hot as I expected. Dang (what a lame word). This will keep me awake for a while.

On A Friday- EDIT: it’s beat between breaths. My bad!

(1:11am) I’m not sure how I feel about this album. I don’t like too many songs. Still buying CD.

(1:31am) I’m not sure why I have the edge. I’ve got the straight edge lifestyle, but I don’t know why. I’m not a poseur. I swear. I talk the talk and walk the walk, but I’m still afraid that I can’t claim the edge.

Is it wrong? Is it wrong to call myself sXe? I’ve only been drunk once and then afterwards, about a year later, I realized how stupid it actually was. I haven’t touched booze since. I don’t do drugs, will never do drugs, due to my utter revulsion to what has become of Ben and Chris (my bros). They’re all skeletal and anorexic-looking. They’re mentally fucked up, too. As for sex… never happening. I can tell you that now, at the age of 16, no one will EVER in my lifetime want to fuck this. No need to worry about THAT.